


December Mornings Are All The Same

by cuddlyharkness



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, just a little thing relationshipy, probably not really a fanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 17:36:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2741189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlyharkness/pseuds/cuddlyharkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just something I wrote because I got bored and its been cold, and since it is December I figured it would be a nice little ficlet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	December Mornings Are All The Same

December mornings in the 221B Baker Street flat were always the same. John Watson would wake to the sound of deft fingers playing some fanciful melody, and reluctantly he would leave the comfortable warmth of their bed, his night clothes baggy and wrinkled from his nightly tossing and turning. His hair would be a strange nest of points and cowlicks, his feet padding quietly on the floor until he was carried away into the sitting room.

There he would find the only scene of tranquility that would grace the flat for the entire day. Sherlock Holmes, the adroit and long-awake consulting detective, would always be brilliantly playing his violin, swaying and whisking himself around the room in some singular, serene world all his own. His messy mass of semi-curly black hair, perched like some unruly raven atopp his head. John would stay entirely silent, his eyes filled with a faint glimmer while he watched this man, the definition of unique and alluring all in one package, move about in the same morning trance until the final notes of his whimsical song, spewed forth by the dearest of instruments, came to an end.

It was only when astute, polychromatic eyes revealed themselves from behind ivory lids, like some bright pair of suns creeping from behind the clouds, did Watson dare speak.

"So, shall I put the kettle on?"


End file.
